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vrijdag 19 oktober 2012

WANDERBACH page 150 (chapter 13)

As soon as Tork and his dog are aboard the bark
starts off. The sails hang loose in the absent wind en yet the boat floats, or
rather: drifts in the right direction in a higher speed then the gulf stream can
explain.

The passenger assimilates the new environment. A
clean wiped deck, everything competent stowed as if a storm is expected. The
woodwork seems old and can use a brush, but the bark makes the solid and robust
impression to challenge a hurricane.

Tork has no idea how long the journey will take
and has no intention of asking the in the pit together clewing sea creatures. No-one
seems to manage the boat and yet they navigate in a straight line from the
shore to open water and the other side, as he hopes.

The headband is still hidden under his shirt and
he wonders what to do with it. Payment for the way across, but as long no-one demands
it he won’t give it to the creeps which are pirates according to Shaah. They
don’t do much; sit in distorted positions together and look all like brothers that
crawled out of the same hideous egg. Their stubby shapes reach
bearly Torks’ loin. The most
massive is their head with the overall dominating yawning mouth; bold as a picked
chicken where even their color reminds of; eyes like pins points in the mass that
seems to be modeled by children hands from sick clay. No visible nose or ears why
it isn’t clear if they can smell, but with their hearing seems nothing wrong. No neck neither. The too
large head seems powerful glued on the body from which a number of long grabbers
extend that end in three fingers with which they hoof themselves.